


The Lord of Ecstasy

by softestpunk



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Dream Sex, M/M, PWP, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:13:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28627824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestpunk/pseuds/softestpunk
Summary: Havi comes to Eivor in a dream, Eivor comesforHavi in a dream.
Relationships: Eivor (Assassin's Creed)/Havi (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 80





	The Lord of Ecstasy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quills_at_dawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quills_at_dawn/gifts).



> Havi WOULD tho

Havi comes to him in a dream.

Eivor has barely collapsed into his own bed in the longhouse when he finds himself back in Suttungr’s hall, surrounded by feasting Jotun, staring into the eyes of a man who wears his face, almost. The eyes are different, older, knowledge-clouds swirling deep within them, the gleam of cunning unlike anything Eivor has ever seen in himself.

He also has the barest height advantage, just enough that Eivor must raise his chin to meet his gaze.

“Eivor,” Havi says, so close Eivor can smell the honey on his breath. He smiles a slow, sly smile, one Eivor _does_ know on his own face, and Eivor backs up a step only to find himself trapped against a wall.

He swallows.

“My Eivor,” Havi murmurs, hand reaching out, tracing the raven on the side of Eivor’s head. “Do not be afraid, little raven. I do not seek to harm you.”

“What do you seek?” Eivor asks, because Havi wants something if he is here, he always wants something.

But this is not Odin, the wise but inscrutable All-Father who comes to him in moments of crisis. This is Havi, the High One, seeker of knowledge, bright and golden, shining with life, at the peak of his powers.

He is beautiful, Eivor thinks, and not just because of the resemblance between them. There is something more about him, something wonderful.

Havi smirks, his eyes alight with promise.

“I want to see what I will become,” he says, and before the words have registered, warm fingers frame Eivor’s face, Havi’s honey-sweet mouth closing over his, the weight of him pinning Eivor in place and sending a thrill of want deep into the pit of his stomach.

Eivor moans into the kiss as Havi presses closer, slipping a knee between his legs and making him gasp.

“I am the Lord of Ecstasy,” Havi murmurs against his lips, their noses brushing one another, everything soft and intimate. “And that will be my gift to you. My gift to _me_.”

Eivor wants to say something, but there’s no time between the thought and Havi surging forward again, stray fingers creeping under the hem of the tunic Eivor finds himself in—a tunic he has never owned—and Havi’s warm mouth sealing over his, clever tongue thrusting deep.

Havi’s weight pinning him in place makes Eivor’s insides turn to liquid fire, _want_ coursing through him, deep in his blood. He has never been slow to arousal but this is different, this is like nothing he has ever known, between seidr and madness.

Strong hands slide down past the waistband of his breeches, squeezing firmly, Havi’s knee pushing harder against him, a strangled gasp catching in Eivor’s throat as a bolt of pleasure rushes through him at the contrast, the friction, sure hands on him in such an intimate place.

“Tell me I can have you, Eivor,” Havi laughs into his mouth, kissing him again, fingers teasing. “Let me show you what I can give you.”

Eivor nods without meaning to, and then in the way of dreams is pushed down into a nest of blankets and pillows, warm and cozy as though there are no cold stone floors beneath them, and in the way of dreams, there aren’t. This is Eivor’s bedroom in the longhouse, except that it isn’t, not quite.

A warm hand curls around his dream-naked flank, strong, radiant, power coursing over Eivor’s skin like the lightning of a sea storm, making his hair stand on end.

“This is a good body,” Havi says, admiring gaze raking Eivor from face to groin. “Strong, lean, beautiful. Useful for many things.”

Eivor swallows, unsure what to do with such praise, desperate to reach out and touch but afraid that is not allowed.

“I imagine I will enjoy it very much,” Havi adds, thumbing a nipple, Eivor’s breath hitching at the sudden shock of pleasure, at the way his body reacts so readily, all his senses heightened.

A shudder washes over him as Havi takes his mouth again, hard body pressed up against his, perfect in his godhood, firm and warm everywhere he should be, thick cock resting against Eivor’s thigh.

He knows what comes next and the thought makes him squirm with need, belly tight as heat flows south.

“Havi,” he hiccups between relentless kisses, chest clenching as those clever fingers trace the lines of his tattoos, tickling his ribs, rounding his hips and gripping him tight again, possessive.

“You are mine,” Havi murmurs in his ear, playful but with iron at the core, and Eivor nods, because of course he is. Havi is the All-Father, the High One, king of the gods and ruler of Asgard, and Eivor is his.

Another searing kiss as Eivor feels the hot, thick head of Havi’s cock pressed up against him, nudging insistently. He fears no pain, knows there will be none, not here in this strange dream space where nothing can harm him, where he is protected.

“ _Mine_ ,” Havi growls as he pushes forward, no pain, only fullness, fullness that spreads through Eivor’s core and makes his skin feel as though it has shrunk in the sun, as though there is too much inside him _everywhere_ for it all to fit, as though he might burst at the seams.

Eivor grasps at him, weakly at first, then harder as his thrusts grow bolder, the rhythm between them settling into the stroke of an oar, taking them somewhere Eivor is no longer afraid to go. His nails leave marks on Havi’s skin and Havi laughs with manic joy, gripping Eivor ever tighter, taking him ever harder.

His back arches at the first taste of lightning-bright pleasure at the tips of Havi’s fingers, tingling over his skin as they stroke and pet, as though Havi could not possibly touch his fill. Eivor’s mind clouds, the increasing haze leaving him pliant and gasping, eager for more, for whatever Havi will give him.

He hears himself sobbing for more, but it is distant, a world away. All there is left in _this_ world is the overwhelming warmth of being taken by a god, hot enough to burn him away to nothing, but he resists, and takes, and some distant part of him begs and begs for _more_ , harder, and Havi is kind, and he gives and gives.

Everything but pleasure fades, his body dissolving into nothingness, only feeling remaining, harsh and sharp and wonderful, a blade’s edge his whole being balances on.

Havi calls him back to flesh, pulling him down to the bed again, forcing him to feel the slide of sweat-slicked skin, breathe in their combined scents, taste the blood of his own bitten lip.

He has never been had like this, and he fears it will ruin him for all others, for who could compare to a god?

Blunt teeth scrape the scar on his neck, the pressure building and building, in Eivor’s belly, his thighs, his balls, and against his skin, Havi pressing into him harder and harder until he can take no more, _no more_.

The skin breaks with the rest of him, the white-hot rush of pain-pleasure pushing him into freefall, the tumble after the crested peak as though he has been thrown from a mountaintop. His fingers dig deep into warm flesh as another surge of pleasure rushes through him from the inside—Havi’s seed, coursing through his insides, getting into his blood.

Eivor wakes with a start, sweat-soaked and clinging to the furs beneath him, panting for breath as though he’s run the length of England and back again, his belly sticky with his own fluids.

For a fleeting moment he hears manic laughter in a familiar voice, and then it is gone, and perhaps it was never there at all.

He will probably not tell Valka about this.


End file.
